There's No Sympathy For The Dead
by leaky pen
Summary: [Remake of The Mediator: Haven] Haven is the only daughter of mediator Suze Simon, and she has two problems: to find her real father, and to rid a deadly ghost that is more than she expects it to be.
1. Chapter One

There I was, snoring away in the middle of my History 2206 class, probably drooling my saliva all over the top of the desk. In the distance, I could hear the teacher droning on and giving the class his daily educational lecture to pay attention because it was going to be on the final.

It's not like the final wasn't on my mind, because it definitely was, but it was pushed far into the back of my brain until I had gotten around to sleeping last nights ghost fight off. Pesky things, ghosts are. One minute they're just floating there, looking completely harmless. Then the next, they're dropping heavy blocks of concrete on you, so you just _have_ to get them back for that.

In the middle of a nice dream, there was the muffled sound of someone calling my name and tapping on my right shoulder. "Miss Simon," I heard a voice say and I instantly awoke from my drowsy state. "Miss Simon, please wake-up."

"I wasn't asleep!" I exclaimed instantly, popping up from my desk. "I was just . . . resting my eyes." Mr. Keelin looked much more than skeptical.

"Haven, please try and stay awake or I'll have to send you to Father Dominic again," said Mr. Keelin, as he let out a heavy sigh and resumed with the class.

It is like this every day. I fall asleep in an important class and get a warning to be sent to the principals' office. Some people would usually pay attention to this warning and try not to fall asleep again, but I pay no heed to it. What is Father Dom. really going to do? Sic another insane ghost on me like the mediator I am?

He calls it a gift that was passed down from my mother and that I should cherish it, like him. I would much rather be the normal sixteen-year-old girl that I am, living in gorgeous Carmel, California, instead of an insomniac ghost buster.

That is basically who I am in a nutshell. I'm Haven L. Simon, the only child of a single mother, Susannah Simon, who can see the dead that walk amongst us and helps them ascend to a better place than being condemned on Earth because of some unfinished business.

I never knew my biological father. Whenever I go to ask mom about it, she looks at me with sadness and turns away, so I stopped asking. I do know that he must have dark eyes, because my mother has green eyes and I have brown. Except, I do have my mother's brown hair.

Whoever he is, I know he's out there, and I will find my father one day. Even if it costs a few trips to Father Dominic's office . . . or the hospital. I usually end up there most often.

* * *

**I've decided to restart The Mediator: Haven with a slightly different plot. The chapters may or may not be up as quickly as people want them to be, but I'm sort of busy and I have a life now. Sorry it's a bit short, but I wanted to make the first chapter shorter than the rest. I'll have the second up soon.**

**Thanks,  
Jasmine R.**


	2. Chapter Two

By the time lunch rolled around that day, Father Dominic had already found me walking out of my Advanced English class. I may speak ill of history, but when it comes to English, it's a natural talent of mine. Along with seeing the deceased.

"Haven," Father Dominic's raspy voice called from down the breeze way. "If you do not mind, I would like to have a quick word with you, please."

I turned on my heel and walked down to him, opposite of everyone else going to lunch. "If it is about the dent in my locker," I began, "it isn't really my fault. That ghost would just _not_ leave me alone!" I put both of my hands up, palms out, in defense.

"No, no," said Father Dominic, shaking his head slightly. "I was hoping that you could do a favor for me, please?"

I nodded my head in agreement and said, "Sure, of course I will." I was leaning against one of the large stone pillars holding up the breeze way in the Mission Academy.

"Good, then." He smiled and handed me a large, white envelope. "Could you bring this by the hospital for me this afternoon? I have a meeting and it is very important that I do not miss it. Tell the secretary at the front desk that it is from me and is for Career Day."

I tried to hide my eyes rolling. Career Day has to be one of _thee_ most boring days' that this school plans. The school calls in different people that are in different fields of work to come in and talk to us about their jobs. It is supposed to encourage us to 'widen our horizons' on different jobs and why to study hard to get a good education. To me it's an hour's nap.

"I will," I promised, slipping the envelope into my messenger bag. As I turned to go, I remembered something. "Oh, and there is just one other thing."

"What would that be?" Father Dominic asked me.

"Hannah Winters," I told him, releasing a heavy sigh. "It's that ghost that keeps annoying me. She honestly _won't_ leave me alone. I think an exorcism is the best way to get rid of her."

"We'll take that measure when _I_ think it is necessary." Then Father Dominic walked off of the breeze way and back into his office.

I, on the other hand, started to walk toward the school doors to lunch. On my way I thought of how to pass on Hannah before she did any more damage, or even seriously hurt someone. Hannah Winters is a ghost from 1856. I have no idea what she wants or what her 'unfinished business' is, but I really wish she would sic herself on someone else.

I was broken from my train of thought when my friend's Rae McTavish and Tyler Greening came and found me. I've known Rae since she was born, which was a year after I was. Our families are very close to each other, so it was bound we were going to be friends. When I met Tyler, it was in kindergarten and he was sitting in the nurses' office with a split chin. He was balancing on the two front legs of his chair and the chair gave way, making him bash his chin off of a table. I was in for scraping my knee on the baseball field.

Rae is half-Albino, since her mother is, so she has violet eyes and sensitive skin like her. She inherited her father's light brown hair, which is very dark compared to her mother's bright blond. She's a fairly pretty girl, with a wide range of intellect and a very happy personality.

"Where did you get the jacket?" Tyler questioned, sitting down on the top of a red picnic table. I stared down at the old motorcycle jacket, tugging on the end of it to straighten it out. It was black and worn in some places, the inside of it had a small tear, but I still loved it like my mother did when she was my age. It was almost a security blanket to me, just like my necklace.

"It's my mom's jacket. I found it in the closet last night with a bunch of other old clothes," I told him, stuffing my hands into the large pockets on the sides. My finger caught hold of an edge of something that felt like thick paper. I pulled it out of the pocket and smoothed it out. It was a picture.

Rae looked over my shoulder at the picture and pointed to two people. "They are my parents, CeeCee and Adam. I think that's your mom, Haven, in between the two tall guys."

In the photograph there were five people all standing in front of the Mission beside the fountain. Rae pointed out her parents on the left side of the picture, where Adam had his arm around CeeCee's waist. On the right side, there were my mom and two guys. One looked a whole lot like a guy I go to school with, and the other I couldn't identify. He was tall and looked a bit older than the rest of them, he looked a bit Latino too, with dark skin and dark hair.

I held the old photo in my hand, dazing off into the courtyard trying to place who this mysterious person was. As I went to play with the necklace that my mother had given me (it's a habit whenever I'm nervous or thinking), I noticed that it wasn't hanging around my neck like it always was.

"What's wrong?" Rae asked, turning away from her conversation with Tyler when she noticed me panic.

"My-my necklace," I began to stutter, suddenly jumping up and searching the lush green grass for it. Stuffing the picture back into the pocket of my jacket, I started to take off toward the school with no explaination, thinking that Father Dominic maybe had found it since I saw him last.

The school was empty as it usually was during lunch time. Since there was no cafeteria at the Junipero Serria Mission Academy, everyone would proceed to spend lunch outdoors in the courtyard. I headed toward Father Dominic's office when a name called out to me.

"Haven," I heard Father Dominic call. "Did you realize that you had dropped your necklace?" In his hand was the gold necklace, on the chain it read in gold letters '_Querida_'. The _I_ was dotted in a single diamond.

Relaxing with relief, I rushed toward him to retrieve my necklace. My mother had given it to me as a gift when I was born, but I never started wearing it until I realized its importance to keep it safe. She never told me what it meant or where she got it, but she did tell me that it was very important to her.

"Thank-you," I said, putting the necklace safely around my neck. "I don't know what mom would do if she found out that I had lost it."

Father Dominic nodded. "It is very important to her, so please, don't lose it."

"I promise."

**

* * *

**

After school, instead of walking home like I usually did, I walked to the Carmel-by-the-Sea hospital to drop off the envelope for Father Dominic. It was a large hospital, all brown on the outside with brick on the bottom. There was a Childrens' Hospital connected to it by a walk way in the back. Each had their own parking lot and entrance way. The Children' Hospital was two shades of blue and white. It looked much less depressing on the outside than the hospital I was entering.

As soon as those sliding glass doors opened, the smell of clean and recycled air hit me in the face. It smelled so fake and cold, and looked very pastel. The pale peach walls really didn't make the waiting room feel any more homey. It just reminded me more of where I was and how many times I had to be rushed to a hospital because of injury.

I walked to the receptionists' desk in the corner of the waiting room. Behind it, was an aged woman with snowy white hair and thick brown glasses on the tip of her pointed nose. The name tag pinned to the right side of her floral patterned scrubs read **Louis**.

"How can I help you, dear?" She asked, turning away from the computer on her desk. I placed the white envelope on the top of the counter.

"It's from Father Dominic at the Mission Academy," I told her. "He asked me to pass this in for him. It's for Career Day on Friday."

Louis took the envelope and opened it carefully. She withdrew a thick stack of papers that were stapled together at a top, left-hand corner, and started to flick through them quickly before passing them to a nurse.

"Thank you," she said before turning back to her computer and typing madly on the keyboard. I said a good-bye and started to walk toward the automatic sliding doors. Right before I reached them, a voice was calling out, "Miss! You dropped something."

I turned my head and seen a very tall doctor walking my way. In his hand he was holding the gold necklace that I lose so often. When I received it, the clip that kept it together was broken, but I managed to fix it slightly. The ring that kept it together was stretched, making the chain fall out of the loop.

"Thanks," I said to the doctor as he dropped the necklace into my spread palm. "I'm always losing it."

The doctor looked strangely at me in question and ran his hand through his ink black hair when I went to put it around my neck again for the third time today. He was a tall man, probably in his mid-thirties, with thick hair, brown eyes, and dark skin. He looked hauntingly familiar.

"You should get it fixed," he suggested, his voice thick with a Spanish accent, "before you lose it for good."

I nodded and said, "I'll try to keep it in mind."

I never noticed that he was still standing there, pondering, until I stuffed my hands into the pockets of my jacket. Inside, the picture still sat there, so I pulled it out. Looking at the mysterious man in the photo, I then realized why the doctor looked so familiar. They looked almost exactly alike.

Chills went down my spine like someone had put a hundred ice cubes down the back of my shirt. I left the hospital paranoid and confused about the doctor who had never mentioned his name. Why had he looked so curiously at me?

My train of thought was broken when a black BMW convertible pulled up along the side of me when I was walking home. The infamous Gregory Slater had stopped to ask if I wanted a ride.

"Thanks, Greg, but no thanks," I happily declined, walking faster than before.

Greg Slater was sadly my age. It was sort of ironic that his parents (the Mission's dynamic duo way back when my mother graduated) had decided to reproduce and give birth the same year I was born. His parents, whom my mother greatly despises, are long divorced now. I guess Slater's can't get everything right. He did manage to inherit his father's gift of being a shifter, like I did.

"You're going to die of a heat stroke in that rutty jacket, Haven," coaxed Greg. "I just wanted to talk."

I am probably the only human that can see past Greg's candy-coated exterior, inside of his toxic layers lies a sea of poison and bitter sweet talk. Look past the designer jeans and the oh-so-expensive sunglasses, you could probably see his true self too.

"Just incase you're deaf by the sound of your own voice. I said no." By this time I had slipped off the jacket and folded it over my left arm. It really was hot out. Sweat was starting to drip down the back of my neck, making the collar of my black shirt stick to me. It was very uncomfortable.

I glanced at Greg sitting in his BMW convertible, the air conditioner on blast, blowing back some of his dark brown hair. He didn't look like he was in a sauna at all. So, after a short minute of fighting my inner feeling of not getting in the car with him, I gave in and took the passengers' seat.

"Look, Haven." Greg started to drive again down the road. The air blowing back at me from the air conditioning was very cool and nice. The beads of sweat slowly dried and left the feeling of my forehead tight and dry. I slumped back into the leather seats, letting the air cool me down. ". . . and I don't think that Hannah is."

"Hmm?" I asked, not paying the slightest bit of attention to Greg, just enjoying the nice air conditioning.

"You weren't even paying any attention!" Greg yelled, hitting the steering wheel in anger. "Pay attention, Haven, this is very important."

I didn't reply, just listened intently after Greg's warning. His voice did seem to have a hint of importance to it, and he did mention Hannah, the freak show ghost.

"I did a little bit of research on our friendly ghost," said Greg sarcastically, "and she's much more powerful than any other ghost that we have come across."

"That's definitely for sure," I agreed and nodded. "She shut off our power for two days. I had to shower in cold water, very unpleasant."

Greg's voice was agreeable as he continued with his findings. "She's also been setting off car alarms, shaking buildings, destroying solid structures, and making very heavy objects projectiles, throwing them great distances as if they were simply paper planes. Last week, there was a report that an entire city, just outside Carmel, had lost its power for three days."

"I do admit, the girl has an enormous amount of strength, but what makes her different from any other ghost?" I asked, spotting my house just up over the hill.

"A book I found at the Mission's library that dates back to her time said that her family was very wealthy, but that she was unhappy. It doesn't state why, but it does say that she committed suicide on Friday the 13th. Back then, committing suicide was a major sin and you were condemned to Hell for the crime." Greg took a breath before starting again. "Hannah is no ghost."

"Then what is she? She's no angel."

"She's a demon," Greg told me right before pulling into the concrete paved driveway. The silver car in the driveway meant that mom was home. "Instead of being sent to Hell, a demon replaced herself with Hannah's spirit. Someone had to summon the demon. It couldn't have been brought here on its own."

Greg looked like he had more to say, but stopped himself before I got out of the car.

"Greg, spill it," I pushed, collecting my leather jacket and book bag from the car's seat. "I know you have more to tell me. It's in your eyes." Those crystal blue eyes, as icy as they may come, stared at me with so much fear that it seemed like the ice had melted.

"I think," he started, "I think that Hannah is aimed at you. Just not you, but your entire family. She's hunting _you_, Haven. Be careful." Before I could ask why he thought this, he threw the car into reverse and pulled out of our driveway.

A mysteriously familiar doctor, a suicidal demon who wants me for a reason that I can't comprehend, and a dreadfully boring day of speeches tomorrow at school. I didn't think this week could get anymore hectic and confusing before, but even now I beg to differ.


End file.
